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Friday, June 24, 2011

I'm not a punk, I'm a realist.

I was invited to attend a gathering of brilliant, artistic, wildly fun women. I was excited about it. And then I backed out.

Not because I suddenly had better things to do, or because I decided I didn't feel like it - I rescinded my RSVP because one of those women attending? She doesn't like me. She doesn't like me a lot - to the point where she completely ignores my presence at social gatherings; to the point where she'll squeeze between a me and the kitchen island to say goodbye to someone, yet won't acknowledge me or excuse her fat ass for invading my personal bubble.

I get that we don't all have to be friends. I get that in this lifetime I'm going to come across some people who just plain don't like me. I get that not everyone needs to have a conversation with me to decide that I'm an idiot with no depth or character or value to contribute. Whatever. I don't get flat out bad manners, though. I don't get the need to be a completely rude bitch. (You guys remember the chick I mentioned a few weeks back who wouldn't stop yelling about her vagina at the birthday party? Yeah. Same chick. As you can tell, I'm devastated we're not BFFs.)

I considered going to the party anyhow, to play the "I don't see you!" game and ignore her right back, to laugh and carry on with the women who do like me, who will acknowledge my presence. But there were only a handful of confirmed guests, and she knows them all better than I do. Were there more women in attendance, the party would spread out as little social bubbles formed - in that scenario, it's easy to have a good time and pretend I'm not being slighted consciously, obviously, rudely. But with small crowds, I can't take the awkwardness or disappointment that surely I'd come home feeling.